


Status Quo Ante Mortem

by Novaviis



Series: Watercolour [23]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Under the Red Hood, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Bat Family, Brotherhood, Brothers, Family Angst, Family Drama, Family Issues, Gen, Implied Dick Grayson/Wally West - Freeform, M/M, Post-Under the Red Hood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 17:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15977144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novaviis/pseuds/Novaviis
Summary: When the Red Hood starts raising hell in Gotham, Dick realizes there's more to this than meets the eye. Bruce's odd obsession with the bloodthirsty would-be vigilante prompts Dick to do some casework of his own. The results lead to a confrontation that is long over due.“Why didn’t you tell me?”The past week came back like sand between Dick’s teeth. He could feel the grind when he clenched his jaw. His grip tightened on the back of the chair, scowl set against the glow of the Batcomputer behind him. He still had one hand clenched around the flash drive he’d ripped from its port – Bruce still had his hand clenched around Dick’s wrist. With a snarl, Dick tore his arm out of Bruce’s grip...It had started a week ago.Under the Red Hood: Dick's POV.





	Status Quo Ante Mortem

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again, friends! I'm so stocked to finally get this piece out. It's one that's been kicking around in my head since the beginning of the series, and has been a pain in the ass to put down into words - but so worth it. 
> 
> If you haven't seen Batman: Under The Red Hood, I suggest you give it a watch for this one. It's not required, because I go through most of the events of the movie through Dick's perspective, but the little in-between scenes might make more sense. Also it's just a fantastic movie, so there's that. 
> 
> In therms of how I'm incorporating the movie into Watercolour, though, I've made a few adjustments. Because of the timeline this is in, both Dick and Jason are a lot younger than they appear in the movie. So, Dick would be around 20, and Jason around 18. I also allude to it in this fic, but I'm going to be incorporating Barbara becoming Oracle and Damien's introduction into the timeline a little before this. When? Who the fuck knows. 
> 
> Finally, a big thank you to [acegraysons ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/acegraysons/pseuds/acegraysons) for helping me out with this one!

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The past week came back like sand between Dick’s teeth. He could feel the grind when he clenched his jaw. His grip tightened on the back of the chair, scowl set against the glow of the Batcomputer behind him. He still had one hand clenched around the flash drive he’d ripped from its port – Bruce still had his hand clenched around Dick’s wrist. With a snarl, Dick tore his arm out of Bruce’s grip. The force of it had him staggering back a step, the back of his thighs hitting the edge of the controls.

Bruce’s hand slowly lowered, curling empty at his side. The cowl was set in a permanent glare, the artificial curl of its brow scowling at whomever was unlucky enough to be on the receiving end – but there was no expression on _Bruce’s_ face. His jaw was set tight, mouth closed in a thin line, but Dick couldn’t glean a damn _hint_ of emotion from him.

It had started a week ago.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Dick was out on Patrol, sticking to Bludhaven while Gotham burned a hole at his back. It was a relatively uneventful night – a couple robberies, some thug trying to sell Mephedrone to kids, and a gang fight. Nothing too exciting, but he wasn’t complaining (much). In all honesty, he was about to turn in for the night when Barbara’s voice crackled into his ear over their comm.

“Nightwing, how would you feel about a little field trip?”

Dick had been mid swing, holding onto his grappling hook as he landed on the ledge of a high rise. Recalling the hook and sticking it to his belt, he crouched on the ledge and looked out over the hazy light of the city. “Where to, Oracle?”

“Memory lane,” came Barbara’s quipped reply. He’d heard the tap of her keyboard before she spoke again. “I’ve got a lead on that theft from Professor Ivo’s lab that we looked into last month. Looks like Black Mask got his hands on the package, and it’s on route to Gotham harbour.”

“Batman’s territory,” Dick replied. “I’m sure he’s got it covered.” And in any case, Dick thought at the time, it’d be a fat chance in hell that Bruce would accept his help anyway.

“It’s an A.M.A.Z.O,” Babs countered.

Dick frowned, pushing his hand back through his hair. “No kidding about memory lane. That thing cancelled gym for half a semester.”

“No thanks to someone.”

“I was 13,” Dick protested.

“In any case,” Barbara chuckled through the line. “It’s at about 60% capacity. Last known victim was Tommy Terror after a grudge match three months ago.”

Dick groaned, casting his focus to the river and the acrid glow of Gotham across the water. “I’ll head over.”

And it was a good thing he did. By the time he’d gotten to Gotham Harbour, the A.M.A.Z.O had been released from its containment cube. He arrived just in time to watch as the brute flung the Dark Knight into a stack of shipping crates.

_“Packs quite the punch for a toaster on steroids, huh?” Dick announced his presence with a grin, more than a little amused by the way Bruce turned to glare up at him. “Need a hand?”_

_“No.”_

_“…Okay, well… how about I just stick around and watch?”_

Taking down the Amazo was no easy task, especially considering the fact that it had _lasers_ , but they managed. And, he had to admit… it was sorta nice running with Bruce again. There had been missions, obviously, now that Dick was managing the Team again and working with the League. There had been plenty times they’d worked together since Dick had gone solo. It just wasn’t the same as midnight at the harbour, fighting together like clockwork. Dick made commentary, spiced things up a bit, and Bruce was mostly just… long suffering.

After the A.M.A.Z.O came the crooks, handcuffed and set up for interrogation. It was almost like old times, it was _fun_ (dropping the decapitated android on a wire was his idea), until their detainees were shot in the fucking head, one by one by one. “Red Hood” the driver had said not long before his untimely end. Now, Dick hadn’t been around back then. The infamous masked persona had been a scourge on Gotham in Batman’s early days, before Dick had come around. Still, Dick had done his homework – it’d been the last known alias of The Joker before he took a nose dive into that toxic vat.

At the time, there was no time to process it. The shots came from a roof, a sniper, and before he could get more than a few words in, Bruce was summoning his jet and taking off after the gunman. Which, of course, left him with three corpses and a mangled android to deal with. Dick, not for the first time since he’d gone solo, got a taste of just how irritating it was to be ditched.

Dick met up with Bruce at the cave after the explosion at the Chemical Plant. He stopped off to talk to Barbara first, pick up some video footage she’d combed through once he told her about the new guy parading around as Red Hood. It took a while to pick him out on the thousands of CCTV cameras in the city, but Barbara’s algorithms were second to none. He brought the intel to Bruce, sticking his flash drive into the Batcomputer’s control panel and projecting it alongside the info on previous Red Hoods Bruce already had on file. Nothing added up at first, but there was only one place to go if they wanted a lead – Arkham. And, once again, Bruce didn’t seem keen on waiting for him.

_“Could you just once say ‘let’s get in the car’? Is that so hard?”_

Their… ‘interview’ with The Joker went as expected, at least from Dick’s point of view. Dick maintained his suspicion that Joker was behind it all, whether it was his usual M.O. not, while Joker himself was nonchalant, toying with them. It all went to hell when he mentioned Jason. Bruce… he just _snapped_. Grabbed him by the throat and pinned him against the wall. Dick watched, not in shock, but something that settled like gravel down his throat – he actually had to ask himself whether he should just… let it happen or not. By the time he’d stepped forward to tell Bruce to let go, that it wasn’t worth it, Bruce was already dropping Joker to the ground.

They didn’t take two steps outside of Arkham before Barbara called. There was a delivery about to go down, Black Mask was getting a new shipment of weapons, and from she could see on the CCTV, it looked like Red Hood had an interest in it. The delivery lead to the helicopter crash. The helicopter crash lead to the rooftop chase. Whoever this Red Hood guy was, he was good. He knew Gotham, and he knew it like Dick and Bruce, did – from the top down. He knew it from the rooftops. This wasn’t some punk with a knack for parkour.

_“He’s **really** good.” _

_“Nothing we haven’t seen before.”_

_“Oh, so it’s a “we” now.”_

_“Nightwing.”_

They pursued. Dick nearly broke his leg diving onto the tracks to avoid a bomb. Even narrower was his leap back off the tracks when the train came – that was where they lost Red Hood. In all honesty, Bruce could have gone after him, picked up a trail and caught up to him. He slung Dick’s arm over his shoulder instead, summoning the Batmobile and driving him back to the Cave. Dick slumped in the passenger seat, clutching his leg, for most of the drive. He’d opened his mouth to apologise once. Bruce shut him down with a firm _“Don’t,”_ before Dick could get sound out.

They reviewed footage recorded from Bruce’s cowl in the cave while Alfred wrapped Dick’s leg. It wasn’t fractured, thankfully, but he’d knocked it out of place and bruised his shin pretty badly. Dick put up minimal resistance, only because it was Alfred and resistance was futile anyway, before allowing him to bandage it. Bruce had a few files open on the screens, sorting through the fight in order to analyze their escaped opponent.

_“He’s got some moves, huh? And as much as I hate to belabor a point-“_

_“And still that is often exactly what you do.”_

_“I’m chatty. It’s part of my charm.”_

Charming or not, Bruce sent him home (and even _thanked_ him, which was – weird). After that, he was off the case. Alfred drove him back to his apartment in Bludhaven, making sure he got up the stairs and staying only long enough to gently berate him for the astonishing amount of instant ramen in his cupboards. Dick crawled into bed that night, pain meds dragging him down into a deep slumber, still unable to shake the oddity of this case. Bruce seemed… haunted, somehow, after they’d lost Red Hood at the train station. Quiet wasn’t the correct way to describe it, Bruce was _always_ quiet, unless he was arguing something. He’d been tense, jumpy almost. Something about Red Hood was putting him off. Dick knew that Bruce would handle things from there, that he’d done his part, but still… he couldn’t shake the thought that there was more to this situation than Bruce was letting on.

So, he’d given it a few days. Let things settle a bit. He’d been on the ground during Joker’s escape, playing the part of the rookie cop keeping the crowds back and out of the way. He’d seen the confrontation between Red Hood and the Joker, seen Bruce fly in and whisk them both away – and he’d responded when the abandoned apartment suit over Crime Alley went up in flames. No bodies were found. Joker was taken back to Arkham.

_“Whoever this Red Hood guy is, he really did a number on that maniac,” his C.O. grunted as they turned the scene over to the Investigation unit. In the distance, Dick heard broken laughter, cut off by metal doors slamming shut and an engine revving up._

_Dick slid into the passenger seat of the squad car as the Officer got into the other side. “That bad, huh?” he’d asked without an ounce of sympathy to his voice._

_“Yeah. Looks like he beat him half to death with a damn crowbar.”_

It stuck with Dick. Didn’t set off any alarms at the time, but it was a comment that dug deep unto the marrow of his bones and wouldn’t leave him. There was something _more_ to this, something dangerously personal. Dick called Bruce the next evening, giving things time to settle in. The call lasted maybe three minutes. Bruce told him that things were taken care of, that there was nothing more to talk about, and promptly ended the conversation. Dick was left with more questions than answers, and more determination to get to the bottom of this.

He considered that maybe Bruce just snapped. Maybe Red Hood escaped, and Bruce himself took a crowbar to The Joker in a moment of weakness, of self-realized vengeance that’d been boiling to the surface for years. In all honesty, Dick wouldn’t have blamed him.

So, he looked into it. Asking Barbara for help might have made the work a hundred times faster, but he didn’t. If this was a personal to Bruce as Dick was beginning to suspect, he knew that Bruce wouldn’t appreciate the breach of privacy. Realistically, Dick should have left it alone for that sake – but he was concerned. At odds thought they were, Bruce didn’t keep secrets from Dick. Not without reason. In Dick’s experience, those reasons were usually bullshit. Not always, but usually. Dick couldn’t let this one go.

He started with the night of the explosion and worked backwards. Batman was long gone when the GCPD had arrived on the scene, leaving The Joker half buried under the ruble. Now, Bruce was usually meticulous about CCTVs, knew where they were and how to avoid them when he needed – but they were unavoidable at street level. The explosion occurred on the 6th floor of the abandoned building, and Dick could only find two cameras that had a decent angle on the destroyed corner. Sitting on the couch of his apartment, lounged out in sweatpants with his feet kicked up on the arm rest and his laptop propped up on his thighs, Dick scrolled through the footage for anything of interest. The explosion rocked through the building, smoke billowing up through the windows and crumbled walls, making it difficult to see much of anything. What he did see was a split second in the aftermath, about five minutes after the initial explosion, when the smoke cleared enough to reveal Bruce shielding someone with his body.

Dick zoomed in on the footage. The person he was shielding was a young man with brown hair from what he could see through the residual smoke. He was probably just shy of Dick’s age. He watched as the young man crawled out from beneath Bruce and staggered to his feet, revealing a domino mask covering his eyes, and a Kevlar undersuit. Without the signature helmet, it took Dick a moment to recognize him as the Red Hood. For a moment, it looked like…

Dick kept watching. Red Hood stood there for a moment, catching his breath, staring around in shock at the ruins. He looked down at Bruce, and though Dick couldn’t get a read on his expression, there was no mistaking the way he crouched down and pressed a finger to the side of Bruce’s neck beneath the cowl. He withdrew just as quickly, taking one last look around before stumbling away. By the time Bruce came too, pushing a slab of concrete off his back, Red Hood was long gone.

It took Dick hours to sift through more CCTV footage. It wasn’t exactly easy to track down Batman’s movements, and Red Hood was no cake walk either. Eventually, he found footage from a convenience store corner, looking across the street at a disused parking lot. He found, to his own surprise and endless confusion, Batman and Red Hood fighting together against a group of assassins. Red Hood took a slice to the arm. The _blatantly_ pushed Bruce out of the way of a blast, and then not three minutes later blew a guy’s head off. Batman didn’t make a move to take him in – he just _talked_ to him before Red Hood casually tossed a gas canister and vanished. Bruce _let him go_. Dick, for the life of him, couldn’t understand why until he saw Bruce pick up the blade that had been used to slice Red Hood’s arm. He took it with him.

DNA. Bruce wanted to test his DNA, it was the only reasonable conclusion. He knew who Red Hood was, was familiar enough to let him get away with murder, cared enough to shield him from a deadly explosion with his own body.

Dick shut his laptop after deleting all the footage from the public system and shutting down his connection. Laying sprawled out on his couch, Dick stared up at the ceiling as night crept over the darkening sky, casting the glow of Bludhaven onto his walls. Suspicion gnawed at his brain, nestled at the base of his neck. Still, he’d refused to let himself entertain the possibility, even when that quiet “what if” whispered into his ear.

He’d suited up. Headed to the Cave. It was empty when he’d arrived. Tim was out on a mission with the Team, and Bruce and Damian were probably on patrol. The kid hadn’t been Robin long now, he was volatile and needed guidance, but seemed to genuinely want to go good. In any case, Dick expected that he had a bit of time before any of them returned. He went to the computer.

Dick figured he’d start with the files that Bruce already had on Red Hood, the things they’d discovered together and the footage Dick gave him – but it was all gone. Dick rooted through files and subfolders, running search protocols and anything he could think of, but it appeared that everything had been whipped clean off the hard drive. But – Bruce wouldn’t do that. He kept _everything_. Pushing back in the computer chair, Dick ran his hand back through his hair in frustration. That was when he’d seen it - his flash drive, still plugged in from the week before.

It was a hunch, but it was better than nothing. Dick pulled up the flash drive, entering his decrypting programs and – there it all was. Whether Bruce deliberately moved everything to the flash drive, or it was saved there by accident, Dick didn’t know. The moment he opened the contents of the drive, it all came spilling out. News articles, video clips, and right at the top of everything… the DNA test results.

_Jason Todd. MATCH. Red Hood._

Dick’s mouth went dry.

The whir of the Zeta Tube broke the acrid silence of the Cave. Dick shut down the flash drive, returning to the main screen of the Batcomputer just as Tim appeared in dwindling light of the zetabeam. Tim hesitated as he stepped out, unable to mask his surprise to see his adoptive brother there.

“Dick,” he greeted as he made his way toward the computer. “Hey. What’s up?”

Dick schooled his expression, the slow inferno smoldering through his mind with whispers of _“he’s alive, he’s alive, Jason’s alive”_ entirely shut down. He leaned back against the controls, the picture of casual. “Comparing intel with the computer for a case I’m working on,” he lied through his teeth. There was a line of tension in his voice, and he instantly berated himself for it. Maybe he wasn’t as casual as he wanted to appear. “How’d the mission go?”

“Alright,” Tim shrugged. “It was Recon, and nothing blew up, so we got something right.”

Dick nodded, feeling the flash drive’s presence searing at his side. He didn’t get much of a chance to respond before the alert went off that an authorized vehicle had entered at the south entrance. Dick and Tim both turned toward the tunnel as the roar of the approaching engine grew louder. The Batmobile emerged from the tunnel, slowing into a stop as it reached its parking platform. The hatch opened, and Damian leapt out, rounding the car with a smug smirk.

“Drake,” the boy crossed his arms. “I see you’ve returned from your playdate with your little friends.”

Dick put his hand on Tim’s shoulder before he could step forward and make a sharp retort. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Tim and Damian still got along like water on a grease fire. Fact of the matter was that Damian wasn’t _allowed_ to join the Team just yet, and although he pretended he didn’t care, Dick knew that he was bitter.

The other hatch on the Batmobile opened up with a hiss as Bruce got out in all his Cape and Cowl Glory. Any mirth disappeared from Dick’s face. Bruce appraised the change for only a moment before turning to his two younger protégées. “Tim, Damian, hit the showers,” he commanded, waiting until the boys were heading up to the Manor before looking back to his eldest. “Dick,” he said. “Staying for long?”

Dick’s eyes narrowed beneath his mask. Slipping his hand behind him, he tried to discreetly unplug the flash drive. “I was just leaving,” he grunted before turning toward his motorcycle.

Bruce grabbed his wrist before he could get more than two steps.

And that was how he got here. Dick felt like a fucking _idiot_ for not seeing the truth sooner. Every little hint, every out of place detail, all of it now rearranged itself in his mind and left him feeling _empty_. Facing off against Bruce’s unreadable expression, Dick filled that hollowness in his chest with anger.  

“Why the _fuck_ didn’t you tell me, Bruce?” he repeated in a low snarl.

Bruce was silent, and for a frustrating moment, Dick didn’t think he was actually going to answer. It was then that Bruce’s shoulders dipped, and his jaw relaxed. “For the same reason you didn’t tell Tim.”

The words made Dick pause, struggling to formulate an answer. The worst part was that he was right. Dick could have told Tim the truth about what he’d discovered. Maybe he should have. This was too big to keep under wraps. Dick, in that split second decision, had wanted to protect him. He didn’t want him to know that _this_ was what Robin could become. Ever since Tim had become Robin, Dick had been trying to protect him from Jason’s fate. That didn’t change now that he’d become Red Robin. Still, Dick couldn’t just let this go. It wasn’t the same. “Tim didn’t _know_ Jason!” he argued. “Neither did Damian – but he was my _brother_ , Bruce! I started this case with you, I deserved to know the truth!”

“He’s not the same Jason you knew, Dick,” Bruce snapped.

Dick took a daring step forward, pushing himself into Bruce’s space. “That doesn’t fucking matter! You should have told me he was alive!”

Bruce remained unflinching in the face of Dick’s fury, his own anger reaching a barely contained boiling point. “And what, Dick?” he roared. “That I let him get away?! That he’s become a murdering Crime Lord?!”

The two vigilantes stared back at each other in a tense stand-off. The echoes of Bruce’s shouting resonated off the walls of the Cave, disturbing a few of the bats living in the ceiling. Dick deflated, the emotional exhaustion of the situation starting to get to him. “Are you going to take him in?”

Bruce turned away, stalking toward the computer. “I have to, don’t I?” he countered.

Dick shook his head. “If you wanted him in prison, he’d already be there,” he said. Dick couldn’t see much beyond the cape and cowl, but the line of tension in his mentor’s back was tight enough to cut concrete. Bruce dropped his head, pushing the cowl back off his head and leaving the hollow mask to stare back at Dick.

Bracing his hands on the edge of the control board, Bruce shook his head. “It had to be guns,” he growled. “After all I told him, everything he _knew_ … he had to take up _guns_.”

The words stirred a sick sorrow in Dick’s gut. His hand drifted up of its own accord, resting over the mangled bullet scar on his side. Dick could understand Bruce’s confusion. He could sympathize with his pain, could feel his shame. But he couldn’t just forget the fact that Bruce deliberately kept this from him. Dick turned on his heel and mounted his motorcycle.

At the revving of the engine, Bruce turned. “Dick, wait!”

In the rear view mirror as Dick kicked off down the tunnel, he saw Bruce reaching out to him, his face for once free of any sort of mask, cowl or no cowl. Bruce fell back in the computer chair and leaned against the armrest, pinching the bridge of his nose. Dick looked back up at the tunnel stretching on before him and raced through the dark toward the exit.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Fist tightening on the stone horn of a gargoyle, Dick leaned his weight out over the edge and pressed his other hand to his earpiece. The glow of holographic interface flickered off from his glove. His eyes narrowed beneath his mask, focusing on a silhouetted figure on the rooftop of a disused hotel seven stories below him. The man below him was crouched over a laptop, typing away at the keys in the dim blue light of the screen. Dick counted down from five in his head, watching as the moment he hit one the screen flickered. The man hit the side of the screen, shaking his head before he continued working. Through a light fade of static in his ear, Dick listened as the signal from the laptop was cloned to his ear piece.

_“This city’s gone to shit, do you hear me? Now the vigilantes are fucking warring with each other. If we’re gonna make a move, we gotta make it_ now _. We’re moving the product, and then making our move… Mask …. six kilos…”_

As the static grew louder, cutting into the transition, the man grew more and more frustration with the faulty signal. That is, until the laptop screen began to flicker again, before shutting off completely. Dick couldn’t hear the exact curse word from his height, but he was sure it was vulgar enough to warrant soap in the mouth. He watched with only a _little_ satisfaction as the laptop burst to life again, only to display his own virus, the laughing caricature flashing red on the screen.

The man shot up to his feet, immediately turning in a circle, scanning his surroundings. He stopped when his gaze landed on Dick. Though the crimson helmet remained expressionless, Dick could just imagine the glare beneath. So, of course, he waved.

In the end, it really wasn’t that hard to track Jason down. It took a few nights of excursions across the river to Gotham, but he’d known what to look for. Jason seemed to be fixated on the drug trade. He just waited until he could get a drop on underground activity, and low and behold, Jason came out of hiding to check it out.  

Dick shot his grappling hook onto the top of a water tower on the roof, swinging down in a wide arch. He landed in a crouch in front of Jason, slowly rising. He’d sought the younger man out, but he was under no illusions of friendliness.

Jason reached up, popping the latch on the back of his helmet and pushing it off. He let it fall to the ground with a clatter at his feet. The domino mask beneath may have shielded his eyes, but it was a painfully familiar sight. Though Dick didn’t show it, he felt his veins turn inside out, right down to his hands and feet, blood running cold. He knew this kid – Robin, brash and severe, the same masked face he’d helped to mentor. He knew this kid, and this kid was _dead_ , a pulse away from the man standing ten feet from him.

Jason’s lip curled at him. “Think you’re hilarious, huh Grayson?”

Dick exhaled, fighting through the tightness in his chest. He shrugged. “I’m no comedian, but I got a chuckle out of it.” Jason’s expression tightened. Evidently, he didn’t agree. Dick took a tentative step forward, raising his hands, palms out, in surrender. “I just want to talk, Jason.”

“I’m not interested,” Jason spat.

“Jason, _please_ ,” Dick pressed on. “I know you think you’re doing the right thing but this _isn’t the wa-“_

“Look,” Jason cut him off with a snarl. “There’s nothing you can say that Bruce hasn’t already tried to beat into my skull. You can take your self-righteous pulpit and shove it up your ass,” he spat before turning back toward his equipment.

Dick, stubborn as he was, wasn’t willing to let this go so easily. Though he knew in his head that it wouldn’t end well, he walked forward, reaching out to lay his hand on the vigilante’s shoulder. “Jay-“

Jason spun around again, lifting his elbow to force Dick’s hand off his shoulder with a painful shove. The outburst had Dick staggering back. “Y’know, Bruce, I get!” he shouted. “When I got topside, and I learned that the Joker was still alive, I was fuckin’ _pissed,_ but I wasn’t surprised. The old man’s got his head so deep up his own Messiah-complex that he thinks breaking his one rule will put him on an equal plane with the criminals he takes down. He’s too _selfish_ to sacrifice his creed for the greater good. But you, Dick?” Jason’s tone changed at his name, not softening but flexing, the way a rubber band snaps back and leaves welts on your skin. Dick opened his mouth to stop him, but Jason continued. “ _You_ , I don’t understand. How do you just let that fucking maniac sit in Arkham, in a cozy little cell, after all he’s done? After what he did to _Barbara_?!”

Well, Dick certainly hadn’t come here to fight – but he wasn’t going to object to a change in plans. With a roar of fury, Dick lashed out, catching Jason’s jaw with his fist. Jason stumbled back, but recovered in time to block Dick’s high kick. He dropped down, aiming to swipe Dick’s leg out from underneath him, but Dick was already in the air flipping backward over Jason to catch him in a chokehold. Grappling with Dick’s arm, Jason threw his weight forward, throwing Dick over his shoulder. Despite his attempt to catch himself, Dick landed on his back. The breath was knocked out of his lungs for a second, but he still managed to roll out of the way before Jason could land a punch.

Dick somersaulted up to his feet, blocking Jason’s next attempt to kick his chest. Jason didn’t let up, following through with the momentum to land another kick. It caught Dick in the bicep, forcing him off balance enough for Jason to stick his stance and strike out with a punch. Dick blocked upwards, using the opening to punch Jason in the stomach. Finally gaining the upper-hand, Dick hooked his right leg around Jason’s and kicked his knee out from under him, pushing him backwards. Jason’s back hit the steel beam holding up the water tower. Dick pinned him there, one arm against his throat.

“You’re assuming that if we didn’t mourn you the way you wanted, we didn’t mourn you at all!” he growled. “You don’t fucking get to tell _anyone_ how to mourn, Jason. You have no _idea_ what your death did to us. To me, to Bruce, to our friends – you have no right to come back and raise hell just because you don’t think it was enough!”

Jason didn’t respond. His eyes were wide beneath his mask, his teeth tight. For a long while, neither of them spoke, just struggling to catch their breaths after the fight. Finally, Jason’s hand came up and – he just tapped Dick’s arm three times. He was tapping out, like they would when they were sparring, when Dick was training Jason. He just tapped out. It was such a small thing, but it caught Dick off guard. He let off pressure, backing up and watching as Jason coughed and rubbed his throat.

The adrenaline drained from Dick, straight down through his feet, leaving him more than just physically exhausted. “Bruce cares about you,” he broke the silence. “More than you realize.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jason scoffed, voice still rough. “Didn’t take him long to find a replacement.”

Dick’s face tightened. “Tim’s a good kid, Jason,” he said in a warning tone. “He’s got nothing to do with this.”

Jason laughed, dry and hoarse as he stood up straight. “Oh, I’m sure he’s a _great_ kid! A real prodigy. Follows the rules, never asks questions, always “yes, sir” and “no, sir”, doesn’t run off and get himself blown up. Unlike his predecessor, huh?”

Dick had to stop at that. His brows twisted in confusion, Jason’s words tangling in his head. The realization hit him with enough force to wind him all over again. “Jason… it wasn’t your fault, you know that right?” he asked. Judging from the way Jason’s face dropped, the fight leaving him all at once, Dick had figured out what this was really about. “I don’t know what you’ve been thinking since you came back, or what you’ve been told, but… you didn’t bring your death on yourself. It wasn’t your fault.”

Jason tore his gaze away, glaring at the ground. With a low huff, he pushed away from the water tower. “What the fuck do you want, Dick?” He sounded tired.

Dick simply shrugged. “I told you. I just wanna talk.”

It may have been a risky move, turning his back on Jason, but Dick did. Walking to the end of the roof, he sat down, one leg drawn up against his chest and the other dangling over the edge. It was a minute of silence before he heard boots on the rough concrete. Jason sat on the edge a few feet away, out of reaching distance. It was something, at least.

“I’m gonna be honest,” Dick began. “I’m not sure if you deserve a second chance, Jason. Part of me is saying I should just bring you in right now after the shit you’ve done. But… I’m not pretending to be perfect,” he admitted. “I know the shit you’ve been through. This isn’t all black and white. So… I’m not gonna give up on you, Jay. Whether you’d rather me to or not.”

Jason nodded, keeping his gaze ahead. “Not sure Bruce shares the same sentiment,” he said with a quiet scoff.  

Dick could only nod to that as well, rolling his shoulder back. “He’s got a fucked up way of showing it, but I think he does. But Jason,” he turned his gaze back toward the younger man. “I’ll say this. If he catches you killing again, he’s _going_ to bring you down. Just make sure he doesn’t take you to the police.”

Jason finally looked back at him, quirking his brow. “And why’s that?”

“Because I’m the police,” Dick replied with a smirk.

Jason leaned back, bracing himself on his hands as he let out a long whistle. “Well, look at you, Grayson,” he grunted. “Haven’t been wasting any time, huh? All grown up in a big boy job. Let me guess, starter home in the suburbs?” There was a tone of bitter mocking in his voice, but no outright malice. “Oh, or a spacious apartment downtown. Two dogs, prime location, a 24 hour restaurant on every block. Bet Wally just _loves_ that.”

Dick’s heart skipped a beat. It was a single moment, a rush of heat between his shoulders, and itch under his skin. He didn’t break down at the name, didn’t feel old wounds split open and bleed again. It was just a moment. Dick looked back at Jason, feeling some measure of pitty for _him_ more than anything else. “You… don’t know do you?” he asked. Jason’s confused look said enough. Dick exhaled slowly. “Wally’s dead, Jason.”

And just like that, Jason’s guard dropped. His face softened. In that moment, he looked more like Dick’s kid brother than he had since he first saw him tonight. “Oh. Shit,” Jason cleared his throat. “I… guess I’m more out of the loop that I’d thought.”

Dick nodded. At least it didn’t hurt to talk about anymore. He mirrored Jason’s position, leaning on his hands and letting his head fall back to look up at the starless sky. “Yeah. Over a year ago now. During the Invasion.”

“Right,” Jason nodded. Dick didn’t even need to look at him to feel the awkward tension rolling off him in waves. “Going off the record here…” Jason paused, prompting Dick to glance down at him again. When he did, he found a genuine gaze, a sympathy Dick had been afraid Jason wasn’t capable of anymore. “I’m sorry.”

Dick inhaled slowly through his nose, letting it out all at once with on more glance at the overcast sky. “It is what it is,” he finally replied.

The “thank you” went unsaid, but it was still there. Lingering a moment longer, Dick shifted back from the edge of the roof, pushing himself to his feet and dusting off the dirt clinging to his uniform. Jason followed suit, and as they both rose up, found themselves at an impasse. Neither seemed entirely sure what to do – break off relations then and there, or mend what they once had, or leave their ties hanging in uncertainty. They’d considered each other brothers, once. Whether or not that still stood couldn’t be decided in one night. In the end, Dick was the one to move.

Reaching into a pouch in the back of his utility belt, he took out a small package and tossed it on the ground between them. Jason eyed it warily before his eyes snapped back up to Dick. Dick smiled. “The dead don’t come back, Jay,” he said with a knowing look. “People don’t get second chances like this. Don’t waste it.”

Dick turned away, shooting his grappling hook onto the horn of the gargoyle above. As he swung back up into the heights of the city, he could just barely hear the crinkling of paper as Jason opened the package.

 A magazine of rubber bullets.

 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, your comments mean the world to me. Until next time. 
> 
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